Lay Your Weary Head to Rest
by WalkInEternity
Summary: "This is the way the world ends...not with a bang, but a whimper." -T.S. Eliot. Dean is devastated by loss, and someone helps him make a choice. Major character death. One-shot.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own Supernatural, nor am I making any money off this.

**A.N.:** Ah, I should be working on my other story. Sorry about that, but I wrote this instead. Um. I usually don't write death fics. I actually tend to lean towards humour with a dash of angst thrown in now and again. This…well. This is far different than anything I've wrote before, so if I did not get the rating right or if I failed to warn for something, please let me know. Also, this is my first fic in the supernatural fandom. So let's see how that goes. Also, it's not really set specifically somewhere in canon. Sometime after season five, I guess. So minor spoilers for up to and including season five.

**Prompt:** Author's choice, author's choice, ending the story. (From: fic-promptly on Dreamwidth)

**Pairings:** None, though there are hints of Destiel. Nothing overt, so you can read it with your ship goggles on or not.

**Warnings:** Major character death, blood, language (Dean swears a lot, okay), and mentions of violence.

**S~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~S**

**Lay Your Weary Head to Rest**

_In this last of meeting places_

_We grope together_

_And avoid speech_

_Gathered on this beach of this tumid river_

_-T.S. Eliot, "Hollow Men"_

Dean always thought he would go out guns blazing. That he would be saving the world, or even just saving one person from the horrors out there. That he would die, but not without fighting tooth and nail to take every evil son of a bitch with him.

He never thought he would miss the entire battle.

Sam, eyes blank, staring up at him with a hole torn through his chest. His hair spread out around him like a halo. There was a gun just a couple steps away from him, just touching the pool of blood. A knife lay near his brother's fingers, as if he had been holding it when he fell.

Sam had gone down fighting, and Dean had _missed_ it.

He crouched down near his brother's head, not caring if he got blood on his jeans. With shaking hands, he closed Sam's eyes, and picked his head up so that it was resting in his lap. He brushed long strands of hair from his brother's face as his vision started to blur.

"Dammit, Sammy." Dean's voice shook. "You weren't s-supposed to go first, you _idiot_." His voice cracked at the last word. He could feel his pants soaking up the blood, but couldn't bring himself to care. He was excellent at getting blood out of clothes by now anyways.

He tried to think rationally. Whatever did it will be back, this was now a crime scene, people in the motel must have heard something, and the police might already be on the way…he didn't move. He couldn't. His only thought was, _Sammy always hated getting blood in his hair_. It would dry and he would bitch that the crappy motel shampoo never actually helped. Dean would laugh, which would earn him a scowl. If he complained too much, Dean always threatened to take his knife to his hair and cut it all off. Sam sometimes went out and treated himself on a decent bottle of shampoo. Dean scoffed, but on Sam's birthday, went out and secretly got one for him. He passed it off as if it was a selfish decision, saying he was sick of Sam grumbling every time they went on a hunt. Really, though, it was seeing Sam's surprised and grateful smile, looking at him as if he was…actually a good person. Like he was someone _important._

Sam would never look at him like that again.

Dean would not accept this. There was no way his brother could be gone forever. They both had been through too much. They had both been to Hell and back, literally, and Dean was not going to give his brother up. He closed his eyes and sent up a short prayer. Cas could fix. Or he would know someone who could. It wasn't over yet.

Dean waited, his legs going numb from sitting in the same position for so long. His hands clutched Sam's body like a lifeline as he whispered prayers into air.

After a while, those whispers became louder, until Dean was screaming at the top of his lungs, "Cas, you son of a bitch! Get down here now and fix Sam, or so help me _God_, I will cause so much _shit_ for you!" There were tears streaming down his face. His hands gripped Sam's hair as his body curled around his brother's head and shoulders. His litany of curses eventually died down, leaving him with nothing except for a hoarse voice. "_Please_, Cas. I can't…Sammy's gone. I really…I really need you right now."

"I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean jumped, because that was not Castiel's voice, that was a woman's voice, and he was already reaching for the closest weapon when he spotted her.

"…Tessa?"

And it was. The reaper looked the same as ever, with her long black hair and brown leather jacket. Dean was not pleased to see her. "What the hell are you doing here?"

She didn't snap back, nor even seem to notice his rude tone. Huh. "I'm here to do my job."

Dean scowled and went to brush the wetness from his cheeks, but his hands caught in his brother's hair. He looked down and said a bit helplessly. "Well, you're too late. So screw off."

He heard her crouch down near Sam, across from him. Looking at her feet, he noticed the blood didn't even touch her. And here he was sitting in it, drenched.

"I already got Sam. I'm here to make you a proposition, Dean."

He looked up at her. She was as professional as ever, but usually she tolerated him _at best_. This time, though, she was looking at him with such a gentle expression on her face. Dean was instantly on guard. "Unless it has to do with getting Sammy back, I'm not interested."

Tessa sighed. "No, Dean. I'm here about you, not your brother."

Dean sneered. "Then you can shove it." He still had Cas, if he could just-

"Castiel is dead, Dean."

"You lying bitch," Dean spat out automatically.

Finally, some spark of fire through all the gentleness. "Dammit, Winchester, we reaped him an hour ago, exactly five minutes and forty seconds after your brother."

"Prove it."

"What, you want a list? Pictures? Look, I'm here to do my job." She hesitated, and then added softly, "I'm sorry about your family, Dean. I know Castiel and Sam were the only ones you had left."

Her gentleness is what finally convinced him. She was never gentle with him if she could help it. He guessed he just annoyed her too much. If she was right…Cas was gone. And he was completely and utterly alone. Dean could feel himself fall apart. "How?" he gasped out.

"Does it matter?"

Dean was about to say of course it fucking mattered. Then paused. And looked down at Sam's still face. He knew that, once he found out what killed his brother and his angel, he would spend every hour hunting down and killing whatever dared to take them from him. And…then what? It wouldn't make him happier. They would still be dead and he would be here. Stuck in this never-ending cycle of _blood_ and _pain_ and _revenge_. Stuck in this filthy world, slogging through the mud and the _shit_. Wading through the gutter only for some monster to get one lucky hit in and then he would _finally_ be able to join his family. He was just so goddamn tired of it all. Everyone was dead and he might as well be.

_He might as well be._

"Tessa?"

"Yes?"

"What was your proposition?" He looked up, catching her eyes. She was giving him a knowing look.

"You know, once upon a time, you died. And I was there to guide you to the next step. Because everyone needs a little help sometimes, even you, Dean. Once upon a time, you weren't ready."

Dean closed his eyes and thought of all the people he had lost. And maybe, just maybe, he had done enough good to outweigh the bad. Maybe...he could see them again.

That sounded better than sticking around for the rest of the show.

"That offer still on the table?"

"Course, lunkhead, that's why I'm here. Are you ready now?"

Game over. Doesn't sound so bad when you don't have any coins left to insert.

"Yeah, Tessa, I'm ready." He looked down at Sammy's face. If he ignored the blood, he could almost pretend Sam was asleep. He looked back up at her. "So how does it work?"

"It's not complicated. You know the saying, 'a brush with death'?"

"So a touch then, yeah?" At Tessa's nod, Dean paused and thought about it for a moment. "Could it be anywhere?"

She raised her eyebrow and said disapprovingly, "It could, but choose _wisely_."

Dean shook his head. "I wasn't making a- never mind. Just- can you lean in a little?"

She gave him a look, but complied, without making contact with him. He whispered his request in her ear with uncharacteristic nervousness. She leaned back with a…unexpectedly fond look on her face. "You were shy about that? _You_? That's…actually cute." She paused, a thoughtful look crossing her face. "And strangely fitting for you, Dean."

Dean gave her a look. "Is that a yes?"

She grinned a little. "Why not?"

He shrugged, and grinned back, a little. Still worn down to the bone, but at least he gets to decide this. "You know, I never thought this would be the way to go. Always thought I would die…well, how most hunters go. Like…" He couldn't say his brother's name in that moment. He kept eye contact with Tessa and willed himself not to look down.

Her smile softened. "Well, isn't this better?"

Dean breathed out heavily. "Yes. No. I don't know. It's…it's _my_ choice, though, and that's something at least."

"Yes, I think it is."

Dean closed his eyes and thought about his father's stern face, teaching him about how to hold a gun. About Bobby's gruff voice teaching him about football instead. About his mother's singing and Ellen's rough laughter. About Jo's hair and her fierce soul, determined and strong until the very end. His thoughts turned to others who have died, until they rested on Castiel. The soft feeling of his worn trench coat. The sound of his wings, like the ruffling of feathers. His blue eyes staring at Dean with something akin wonder or confusion or…well. Something else.

And _oh_, his brother. Dean thought of that smile. Like Sammy thought he was the most important person in the entire world. Dean felt like he was worth something when Sam looked at him like that. Dammit, he just wanted to be _worth _something, in the end.

"Tessa?"

She sighed, but said, "What?"

"Is there any, you know, meaning to it all?"

She stared at him for a second, and seemed to conclude that he was being serious. She appeared to be thinking it over, but then said, with a sly grin, "Everything is dust in the wind."

Dean blinked in surprise, but then recalled that he used the same answer when a heart attack victim, who died from too much cheese, posed that exact question to him. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but he remembered the overweight man's answer. He returned her smile with one of his own, albeit with some bitterness. "That's it? A Kansas song?"

She still had a grin on her face as she said, "Yup. So, shall we?"

Dean, still covered in his brother's blood, hands tangled in his brother's hair, felt the tension leave his body. "Yeah."

She leaned in closer as Dean tilted his head up. "Close your eyes, Dean, and it will all be over."

He took one last breath, and obeyed. There was darkness, and then the soft press of her lips against his. He caught the scent of pine trees as her hair brushed his face and her hand touched his cheek.

_Her lips were so sof-_

And he knew no more.

**S~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~S**

**A.N.:** Yeah, sorry for cliché title, but I think it fits pretty well, yes? Also, if you're wondering at the end about the whole pine trees thing, Dean is smelling cypress. Cypress trees and their smells are most popularly associated with death and the immortal soul. It's also been used in many cultures as wood for coffins. So yeah. Feedback is much appreciated! Especially because this is my first Supernatural fic and I want to make sure I have the characters right. Please and thanks!


End file.
